


A Very Special Avengers Thanksgiving (or, Tony just does not know how to cook, at all)

by cherryfeather



Category: Captain America (2011), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Cooking, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Team!fic, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather/pseuds/cherryfeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Um," Steve said eloquently. He stood frozen in the door to the kitchen, staring at Tony.</p><p>"Ah," Tony said, glancing over his shoulder. "Shit. Uh." After a brief, awkward look around, he grinned breezily, forcing his usual flippant smile. "Hey, Steve. Don't--don't...come in, okay?"</p><p>"No," Steve agreed, taking in the complete and utter disaster that had been made of the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Special Avengers Thanksgiving (or, Tony just does not know how to cook, at all)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no real excuse for this, except that my dear older sister asked for an Avengers Thanksgiving. And you guys, she is all the way in England, she didn't have a proper American Thanksgiving, this was the least I could do. So. Yeah. This is...yeah. Rated teen because Tony swears, but honestly it's pretty gen.

"Um," Steve said eloquently. He stood frozen in the door to the kitchen, staring at Tony.

"Ah," Tony said, glancing over his shoulder. "Shit. Uh." After a brief, awkward look around, he grinned breezily, forcing his usual flippant smile. "Hey, Steve. Don't--don't...come in, okay?"

"No," Steve agreed, taking in the complete and utter disaster that had been made of the kitchen. There was food _everywhere_ \--gravy splattered over every counter, potato skins littering nearly every surface, flour and spices and what looked maybe like turkey giblets coating all the rest of them.

Tony, in a plain longsleeved shirt and grease-stained, burn-spotted jeans, was somehow not as disastrously wrecked as the rest of the kitchen. There were definitely potato peelings in his hair, though. And flour on his shirt. And a smear of gravy running from forehead to hairline where he'd probably done that thing, the hair-grabbing, that he always did when he got really irritated with things.

He'd been kneeling in front of the massive oven in the Avengers' mansion kitchen when Steve walked in, squinting into it with what looked like a mix of chagrin and frustration to Steve's eye. (Steve had startled himself a little with how quickly he'd learned to read Tony's face; either Tony was more expressive than most people, which seemed unlikely, or Steve actually understood him, which was even more unlikely.) Now, though, Tony scrambled up to his feet, casting desperately around for some kind of explanation or excuse.

He didn't get a chance to give it, however, because Steve started to laugh. A deep, genuine, helpless kind of laugh that doubled him over and made him clutch at the doorframe for support.

Tony stared at him with an indignant, mouth-half-open kind of expression, not sure if he wanted to act angry or hurt that Steve was _laughing at him,_ and Steve waved a hand at him to ward off the incipient explosion, still giggling too hard to speak.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's not you, it's just--" Steve chewed his lip for a moment, then managed to get out, "You have turkey guts in your hair." Tony's yelp of "oh, _sick_ " and frantic clawing at his hair only sent Steve off into gales of laughter again.

"Steve, this is not funny, this is--oh, God, I do, there are giblets _in my hair,_ " Tony moaned, scrabbling frantically at his scalp. "I hate this, I hate _you,_ this is the last time I try to do anything nice for you _ever_ \--"

"Huh?" That managed to bring Steve up, finally, and there was this weird sort of flip in his stomach when he processed Tony's chatter. "What do you mean, for me?"

Tony snorted, turning back to his destroyed kitchen. "I'm certainly not trying to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for _me,_ Steve. I mean, I don't give a flying fuck, but since you were moping like a sad kicked puppy yesterday I was going to _try_ to--" He broke off, frowning, turning back to Steve with an accusing glare. "You're staring at me, I felt it, why are you staring at me, are there more turkey bits stuck on my shirt, is there flour on my ass, but then that leads us to the question why are you staring at my ass--"

"Tony, stop talking," Steve said almost automatically, because if there was one thing he was better at reading than Tony's face, it was Tony's voice. And Tony's voice was starting to do that babbling, running-over thing it did when he was trying to minimize something, hide or deflect or whatever it was they called it in the future when someone's feeling something and trying to pretend they aren't. "You...destroyed your kitchen for me?"

Tony's shoulders twitched, the Tony Stark equivalent of squirming under his gaze, and Tony scrubbed an awkward, flour-and-gravy coated hand over the back of his neck. "Well--not, like, _you_ specifically, for the _house,_ but since you live here I guess, yeah, this was for you." He ducked his head, picking up a bowl and tossing it into the sink. "You were the one who wanted Thanksgiving."

Steve felt a peculiar warmth curling in his chest, and he smiled at Tony, a real smile, not the teasing kind. "Thank you."

Tony flushed, turning away. "Yeah, well, don't thank me, there's absolutely nothing edible that's been produced in this kitchen."

"What did you try to _do?"_ Steve asked, for the first time noticing that there was gravy on the _ceiling,_ how did that even _happen?_

"Cook, I guess, how the hell do people do that all the time?" Tony was about to go on another one of his rambles, Steve could tell; from the way he was holding that wooden spoon in his hand, Steve was pretty sure it was about to be used for some expansive gestures. But before he could head him off, a door banged behind him and the rest of the Avengers flooded up out of the basement gym, Clint and Natasha arguing loudly about something, they always were.

With a curse, Tony bolted out of the kitchen, shoving Steve out in front of him and trying to look nonchalant. "Hey, guys, what's going on?"

"Workout done, snacks are needed," Clint said with a grin, heading for the kitchen.

Tony shot a quick look at Steve, who looked blankly back at him. As Clint started past him, Tony leapt back, blocking the doorway with his body. "Um--no, you know what, I'm hungry too, let's order something in, catering, people cater Thanksgiving, right, Steve?"

His expression was screaming _help me out here,_ and Steve had to take pity on him. "Yeah, I'm sure someone does."

"Great, cool, let's do that then."

Clint frowned between them, then shrugged, starting past him again. "All right, let me just get a drink--"

"No," Tony said quickly, shoving an arm up in the doorframe to block him again.

"What is your problem?" Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow. "And why are you _filthy?"_

"Is that flour?" Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted at him.

"And bird gizzards?" Thor asked, making a face.

Clint made a quick feint left, tricking Tony into moving to block him, then ducked under his outstretched arm with a laugh of triumph. "Ha-hah, Tony, too slow--oh, holy _God,_ Stark, what in the--" There was a stunned silence as Clint took in the mess and Tony's face grew steadily redder.

Then a peal of hysterical laughter came spilling out of the kitchen, and Clint stuck his head back out to grin at them. "You guys, come here, come _here,_ there is an exploded fucking turkey, it's awesome."

"Shut _up,_ Clint," Tony snapped as Thor pushed past him with a bright, interested look on his face. "I don't know the first thing about cooking, okay, let's just make a big fucking deal about it--"

Thor burst out laughing, clapping Tony on the shoulder. "This is truly a magnificent spectacle, my friend. Even Volstagg could not destroy a turkey so completely."

"Are you making fun of me?" Tony asked suspiciously, and Steve choked back a laugh as the Asgardian _winked_ at him.

Natasha brushed past them, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen and blinking at the sight. "Wow," she said finally, arching an eyebrow with cool disdain, and she shot Tony a sideways glance. "I think I might be so appalled that I'm actually impressed."

Bruce was trying vainly not to laugh behind her, and that only made Tony look more embarrassed. "Guys, can we just _not,_ please?"

"Everyone, stop picking on him," Steve said fairly, taking pity on Tony and beckoning to them all. "Leave the carnage alone and let's order in some dinner."

"You should probably shower," Natasha told Tony bluntly, flicking an eye up to the mess that had been made of his hair. He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Stop it, it's Thanksgiving," Steve reminded them, steering them towards the living room. "We should be thankful for our friends, not teasing them because they destroyed the kitchen in an ill-advised but well-meaning attempt to cook dinner for us." Tony glowered at him, and Steve grinned back, hooking an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a half-embrace.

Tony rolled his eyes, refusing to hug him back, but his lips twitched up slightly, and he butted his head against Steve's shoulder. "You probably shouldn't, I'm disgusting."

"Yes, you are," Steve agreed, watching the rest of the team filter into the living room, flopping down on the couches or climbing up to the top of the bookshelf, in Clint's case. "But--thanks for trying. It...means a lot to me."

Tony shifted awkwardly, chuckling a little ruefully. "Don't mention it. Seriously, don't, I'll never hear the end of it."

Steve laughed. He still had his arm around Tony, he realized, and wondered briefly if he should let go. But Tony didn't seem to mind, and Steve honestly didn't care about the mess--what were a few potato peelings between friends? "I don't, um, actually know any catering places," Steve said after a moment, as Thor paused in his channel-surfing so Natasha could explain the Macy's parade. "Not for Thanksgiving."

"I got it," Tony said breezily, that easy, casual smile drifting over his face. "Go explain balloons to Thor, I'll shower and call in the turkey."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve affirmed, smiling down at him.

Tony grinned back. "You might have to let go of me."

Steve dropped his arm a little guiltily, and Tony laughed out loud. His eyes were bright and Steve could tell, he wasn't kidding or faking, this was Tony, actually happy. Tony winked at him, and Steve flushed a little as Tony patted his shoulder. "Happy Thanksgiving, Captain America."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Tony."


End file.
